


the bet to make the year

by larryinwords



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, As in cock rings that do not work, Blow Jobs, Canon Gay Relationship, Cock Rings, Defective cock rings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, Louis and Harry make a bet to see who can last until after the ball drops, M/M, Rimming, Smut, There's actually smut this time guys i'm not lying, bet sex, larry stylinson - Freeform, larry stylinson smut, lol, they live in America
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larryinwords/pseuds/larryinwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis and Harry make a bet to see who can last during sex until after the ball drops on New Years Eve. The result is a little unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the bet to make the year

**Author's Note:**

> yes i am aware that i referred to jenny mccarthy as jenny mccartney sorry lol also they live in America

"Oh," Louis breathes, hands fishing at the material of the couch around him. "Oh— Harry, Harry, please—" 

Harry's not nearly as worked up yet, considering he's been inside Louis all for about half a minute. He knows Louis is more sensitive than most, that Louis is very, very responsive during sex, but, like, come on. They fucked the night before, too. This is supposed to be quiet, lengthy morning sex; the kind that lasts a while and comes with a slow orgasm that makes Harry see stars and Louis see white. 

But Louis is already clenching around him, already arching his back in this _beautiful_ way that makes Harry want to come, too; but he can't, because Harry doesn't _do_ quickies and they lately seem to be the only thing Louis _can_. He places his hands on either side of Louis' waist and slows his thrusts in an attempt to lengthen the duration of their sex, to slow the process and not have it be over so devastatingly quick. After Louis comes, he'll shiver and zone out for a period of five or ten minutes, and by the time he finally clues back into reality again, Harry's arousal will be dwindling and it always _sucks_. Like, it sucks _shit_. 

"No," Louis breathes the moment he feels Harry stopping, hands fumbling wildly until he finds Harry's palms. He pulls on them, pulls on them with a need so profound that it makes Harry groan, and he whimpers. "No, Ha— ah, Harry, _please_ , I need. I need _faster_." 

Harry leans foreword and rests his forehead against Louis', trying to lock a gaze with his frantic eyes that can't seem to stay in one place for too long. "Lou," he groans, circling his hips so his cock nudges against all the lovely edges of Louis' walls. "You gotta slow it down, baby. I'm not feeling what you feel so soon, you know that." 

Louis, though, can't seem to process this, because his eyes are still darting in that frazzled way and his hips are bumping up so he can rut against Harry's stomach. All the while, he's continuously murmuring for moremoremore or for Harry to go fasterfasterfaster, and even though Harry is only just starting to feel into it, he knows he won't be able to hold out on the boy. 

"Can't," he wheezes, and Harry grunts when he feels Louis start to clench up against his cock again. He presses a kiss to Louis' lips and holds onto the connection, so it's less of a kiss than more of their lips merely touching, then murmurs, "Yeah, 'kay, I've got you." 

And he speeds up, really giving it to Louis, who begins to moan out loud, all obscene and sexy. Fuck, Harry _wants_ to come; when Louis outcries shrilly and spurts his warm liquid all over his and Harry's chest, Harry implores to do the same thing, to feel the pleasure Louis is quite obviously also experiencing. 

But he's just not there yet, and he's not going to force himself to be. Instead of focusing on making himself come, he cups Louis' cheeks in his hands and kisses him softly, full of admiration and love. Even though a part of him is a little disappointed, part of him is possibly slightly annoyed, he tries not to dwell on that and only kisses Louis until the boy isn't moaning into his mouth anymore, kisses him until his breathing is quiet again. 

Louis sighs, all sweet and quiet, and Harry moves up so Louis is pulled onto his chest instead of underneath him. 

"I'm sorry," the boy says after a while, apparently keen on how much Harry _really_ wanted to come and how he also couldn't manage to do it. "I'm like an old man, coming after a few minutes."

Harry shakes his head, and Louis places a hand on his dick, massaging it like it's near death or something stupid like that. It's still manifesting his lingering arousal; remaining as an erect exclamation point—not necessarily a horizontal underscore yet. Harry snickers petulantly to himself at the idea as Louis begins to jerk it. His thumb slides over Harry's head, and God, it feels /good/, but a mere good is nowhere near what he wants and he pulls Louis' wrist away with a low laugh. 

"I'd rather not," he grins wearily, lacing his fingers through Louis' and resting their intertwined hands on his stomach. "Your arse feels better than your hand does, and I'm still thinking of how that felt." 

"What about my mouth?" Louis asks, words sincere and hopeful, and, honestly, that makes it all okay. It really does. 

Harry kisses said mouth, does so with tenderness, murmuring sweet promises of later and maybe some other time. Because Harry loves Louis, loves him more than kittens and waking up to the sun every morning, and he doesn't want someone he loves _that_ much to feel pressured to do something. So all Harry does is continue to kiss him, running his palm up and down the boy's bare, sweaty back. 

Until Louis pulls away, saying he's hungry and he wants tummy kisses and he loves Harry. His words make Harry melt, because he's, like, adorable, and he wants to cuddle him until they're ready to have sex again (preferably soon and with a preferably longer intercourse than a quarter of an hour). 

"Mm," Louis sighs, face pushed against Harry's chest. "I want a candy cane. Get me a candy cane off the tree." 

But Harry doesn't, not immediately; he only continues to rub at Louis' back, only relishes in the feeling of Louis' soft skin pressed against his muscled own. "Oh, lord," he says after a few minutes, groaning as he attempts to sit up. "We have to toss away that tree soon. I'm getting sick of the pine needle smell." 

"No," Louis whines, drawing out the word with a decrescendo so it sort of sounds like he's falling off a cliff. He pulls Harry back down, despite the fact that his request requires Harry to stand up to get to the tree, snuggling him like a pillow. "Can't we at least wait until New Years is over? I hate the feeling of the holidays going away, I really do." 

Harry chuckles at the mention of New Years, looking at Louis with amusement in his eyes. "All right," he allows. "I'm okay with that, I suppose." He's quiet for a moment, lying with Louis in his arms, then asks, "What are your resolutions?" 

Louis laughs, a light sound that makes Harry's stomach tingle, eyes shining as he locks his gaze with Harry.

"My New Years resolution is to stop coming so quickly after you've shoved your dick up my ass," he says smoothly, not missing a beat with his confidence towards what he's decided on. And Harry, Jesus, Harry starts to laugh so loudly that he must sound like he's gone to hysterics; he laughs like a child hearing a cuss, he laughs like someone who's intoxicated. 

Louis is pleased with himself, this is easy to gather. The tips of his ears turn pink, and he presses both of Harry's palms against his cheeks with his own hands while the man chortles. 

"No, that's perfect," Harry says, wiping at his teary eyes. "I've got it, then. We'll have a little bet." His voice turns low, almost seductive and sensual, and he presses numerous kisses to the side of Louis' neck.

"Right in front of the fireplace, my dear; we'll play Dick Clark's on the telly, a special like that. Whoever lasts until after the ball drops is the winner." 

Louis' eyebrows are pushed together, and he asks, "Lasts?" 

"We'll make love," Harry explains. "And see if you can hold out on your New Years' resolution." 

***

Fast-foreword two days and Louis is lying facedown on his bed, hands working smoothly behind him. His moans are concealed into his pillow as he pulses two fingers in and out of himself, hips grinding down against the bed to intensify the pleasure he's feeling.

He's attempted to see if he can hold out on coming; his inability to do such is too much of a problem to go unnoticed. Each time his stomach tightens in this delicious way that informs him that he's approaching a climax, he stills the movement of his fingers and waits until the feeling passes. 

It's tiring, however, and takes more than enough of his willpower. He knows he's being mouthy, that despite his noises being muffled by his pillow he remains to be very, very audible to anyone in the other areas of the house.

And, of course, the only other 'anyone' in Louis' household is Harry. 

God, can he hear it.

When Louis told him he wanted some privacy in their bedroom, Harry hadn't batted an eye. They've been together long enough to understand that sometimes they want to wank alone, that being independent for a brief moment is something many people need to do so they don't begin to loathe the other's company. 

But, like, Jesus. As Harry sits at the kitchen table eating a bowl of noodles, he wonders if Louis is _trying_ to get him to come to their bedroom. It's a little faint, the noises, but they're otherwise clear as day and he can't really fucking concentrate on his goddamned ramen. 

He's about to attempt to slurp some up into his mouth when he hears a _yell_ , a sort of quiet _scream_ , and he drops the scorching spoonful into his lap with a pained grunt. 

"Louis, fuck—" he snaps, standing up and abandoning his food at the table to stomp towards their bedroom. Louis is allowed his privacy, yes. Harry wouldn't ever wish for it any other way. Unless, of course, Louis is very loudly asking for company. If _that's_ the case, then who is Harry to leave him alone? 

He approaches the door and knocks on it, a little more aggressively than he'd meant it, a small smile pulling at his lips when he hears Louis hush mid-moan. 

"Darling," he says, arms crossed over his chest while he stands in front of the door. "If you really want some privacy, you'll need to be a bit quieter, yes?"

In response, he hears some shuffling in the room and a few pillows dropping to the floor. 

"Door's open," Louis says from inside, voice rough and needy. 

Harry pulls it open, completely convinced of the fact that Louis had intended him to come in, then stops short and pulls his sweats down before even entering the room.

Louis is lying on his stomach, bottoms up and face pushed against a lone pillow. His hands are behind him, fingers in and out of his puckered hole, and Harry can't breathe.

"God, baby," he rasps, slamming the door closed before falling onto his knees on the bed before Louis. "Why— why didn't you have me come here in the first place?"

Louis laughs, high in his throat, pushing his bum back to graze against Harry's hands. Harry can't breathe, Harry can't _breathe_. "Wanted… wanted to win the bet, yeah? Needed practice." 

Harry grasps onto Louis' wrists and pulls his own fingers out of him, then sets his hands at his sides on the bed. He licks his lips at the sight in front of him: Louis' pink hole clenching in the neediest of ways, thighs thick and spread. Harry runs his hands over each side of Louis' arse, murmuring his verbalised arousal underneath his breath. Louis continues to press his arse against Harry's hands, sighing as if the touch is enough to get him off instantly. 

"You're so pretty," Harry says, leaning down to lap his tongue at Louis' arse. Instantly, Louis stiffens and whimpers, as if he'd been waiting anxiously for the slicked connection. He nods against his pillow, smiling euphorically as he relishes in the feeling of Harry pleasing him. 

"Yeah," he prompts, nodding his head. "Yeah, I'm your pretty boy." 

After that, it's a done deal. Harry's cock is pressing uncomfortably against his boxers, Louis' ass is _right in his face_ , and he's moaning in the prettiest way. Louis' getting fucked. 

And when it's over, when Louis is arching his back and digging his fingernails into Harry's skin, Harry is _actually_ coming this time and he's _actually_ enjoying it, too. God. He really is enjoying it. 

"Harry!" Louis cries out, coming in a burst of white. Moments after, Harry does the same, clutching onto the boy underneath him. He's hazy, hazy from love and the most intense feelings he's ever experienced, and he closes his eyes. He wants to sleep. 

Louis crawls underneath Harry's arms so he can press against his chest, breathing still sped up and not quite back to normal yet. "Harry," he says, pressing his lips against the man's skin. "Harry, that was lovely. You're so lovely." 

Harry, however, is tired, too much so to respond to Louis' words, and all he does is groan and pat Louis' back. "Sleep," he finally says, and Jesus, he really is tired. He just wants a nap.

Louis isn't tired, and eventually he slips out from underneath Harry's arms to pad to the kitchen. He finds a bowl of noodles on the counter, lukewarm but good enough to eat.

"Okay," he says to himself, sitting down at the table. "Why not?" 

***

Louis is very adamant about the bet. Harry realises this when, one day later, he finds that the boy has purchased a cock ring from a local sex shop. 

"That's cheating," he says when he walks in on Louis rolling the thing on. It's pretty, and also quite simple; a pink thing, with a rubbery sort of look that makes it seem like it might hurt. 

"Does it hurt?" He asks, voicing his thoughts as he takes a seat on the bed next to Louis. The boy shakes his head, messing around with it. His tongue pokes out from between his lips, as if he's mesmerised by the silicone thing around his dick.

"Kinda feels tight," he says, pulling at it. "Sort of… sort of like when I pull my hair back with a rubber tie, yeah?" 

Harry smiles and nods, leaning back against the headboard. "Still cheating," he says, placing one hand on Louis' thigh and rubbing at it fondly, touching his skin affectionately. "I mean, darling, those are made to stop you from coming until you take them off. Best way to cheat, really." 

And Louis looks at Harry with these wide, pretty eyes; with a sweetness that Harry can /taste/, then says, "Please? You know I have troubles already. 'S not fair." 

Harry mirrors the look mockingly, eyes wide and lips pursed. He leans foreword and cups Louis' face in his hands, dotting a light kiss onto his nose. "Oh, poor baby," he teases, and he can see Louis' eyes flash. "You held out last night; you'll do fine on New Year's Eve. Promise." 

But Louis seems pretty set on it, starts complaining about how the ring was fifteen dollars, about how he'd had to go through the embarrassment of walking through the shop and he wasn't going to let it go to waste. All the while, he's rolling the thing off and setting it into the little plastic case, putting his clothes on with an angry frown on his face like Harry's the source of all his problems. 

"I'm wearing it, and that's that," he says, so Harry stands up and wraps his arms around Louis' waist. 

"No," he croons, rocking the two of them back and forth. He nuzzles his nose into Louis' neck, and Louis wraps his arms around Harry's own begrudgingly, like he's being forced to. "No, don't be _mad_ at me. I love you. I love youuu." 

Louis finally smiles, then connects his lips to Harry's own. It's a nice kiss, chaste and lovely, and Harry thinks he might have wooed the boy into going his way. 

That is, until Louis pulls away and smiles like he's got a secret, then says in Harry's ear, "I'm still using the ring." 

***  
"More champagne, my love?" Harry asks, sweeping around Louis and slinging an arm around his waist. He's dressed in nice black pants and a button up shirt, bowtie set nicely up in the hollow of his neck. Louis is attired much the same, with a pair of khakis and a pretty blue polo. They both look well; they usually attempt to dress fancier than usual on the holidays for each other. 

Louis grins and preens underneath Harry's attention, taking a final swig of his glass. "Mhm, yes, please," he says, crossing his legs on the stool at the kitchen island he's set up at. Harry pours enough in the glass to last him for a little while longer, then sets the bottle down and slides a sip of his beer. 

"All right," he says. "It's eleven fifteen. We've got forty-five minutes. That long enough for you?" 

Louis slides off the stool and pads to the living room, making sure the fire in the fireplace is light and only the glowing of remaining embers. Dick Clark's is, in fact, on the television, and he hums along to Maroon 5 underneath his breath before dancing back to the kitchen. 

"You're _so_ going down," he says, placing his palms against Harry's chest and pushing him back with the strength of something small and pretty, like a butterfly. He bats at his own torso, like Tarzan, then leaps back into the living room. Harry smiles fondly and turns on the dishwasher, slowly making his way to where Louis sits on the couch.

"You know that we're not _only_ doing this for the bet, right?" He says, taking off his bowtie and setting it on the coffee table. "I love you, and I was really only trying to be funny with the bet. We don't have to do it, honest. I mean—" he pauses, running a hand through his hair and sitting down on the couch next to Louis. "I mean, yes, we should have sex, but it doesn't have to be part of a bet. Really. We can just enjoy it." 

Louis is silent for a moment, then turns towards Harry and places his palms on either of Harry's shoulders. There's a sentimental look in the boy's eyes, making him look like what Harry said is a relief to him, and Harry starts to feel like shit for even suggesting a bet. He's ruined the enjoyment of their New Years, he's made Louis feel pressured, he's—

—being thrown back on the couch, his head hitting the armrest, and Louis is, like, _literally_ sitting on him, squeezing Harry's cheeks in his hands. "You are going _down_ ," He laughs, peppering a number of kisses to Harry's face. And Harry's breath comes out in a rush, eyes fluttering shut. 

"Really had me going there," Harry says when Louis' lips decorate his skin, unbuttoning his shirt so he can continue to kiss his pectorals. "I thought you were upset with me about it." 

"Nah," Louis hums, ripping Harry's shirt open with a little grunt after Harry spent too long trying to open one button in particular. Said button actually _flies_ off, and Harry furrows his eyebrows at Louis. 

"Sorry," the boy says, cheeks pink and eyes sparkling. He's not, of course, and Harry can tell, but he doesn't mind. Harry wouldn't be, either. 

"I was going to set up a comforter and pillows on the floor," he says as Louis slowly makes his way down to his crotch with his lips; which, by the way, is quickly becoming uncomfortable. "Bought a thick one 'nd everything." 

Louis looks up at Harry, eyes dancing from the clock to the television, then back to lock with Harry's again. "Okay," he finally says, rolling off of Harry's chest. While Harry stands up and gets the comforter out from the hallway closet, Louis pulls his shirt off over his head and wiggles out of his khakis. 

"I hate those pants," he says while Harry spreads the blanket out, tossing a few pillows from the couch onto the setting. "They're uncomfortable, and I have to roll them up 'cause they're too long. You don't roll up khakis." 

Harry grins, unbuttoning his own bottoms and pulling them off. He tosses them where Louis' own pants had landed, then pulls Louis onto the floor and runs his hands up and down the boy's rear end. 

"I think you look great in them," he assures before kissing him, and it's the last thing he says for a while. They kiss with love, they kiss with passion; they kiss with a shitty music artist singing about being true to yourself at the New Years Eve party in New York in the background. Harry's hands move up slowly, caressing Louis' bare skin, the makes their way back down again to slide inside his boxers. Louis moans into Harry's mouth when Harry gives his ass a squeeze, his own fingers tugging at Harry's hair.

They roll over numerous times on the comforter, back and forth, until they settle in the position of Louis on top of Harry, his bum grinding down against Harry's crotch. And Harry, God, Harry can't breathe, because while he's in this world of Louis and faintly listening to Ryan Seacrest talk much too animatedly on the television, Louis' hand is rubbing at his cock through his boxers, Louis' hands are pulling his boxers down, and even though his bum is no longer on top of his cock anymore, when Harry opens his eyes Louis' mouth _is_ , and it's so, so, fucking good—

"Harry," Louis breathes out, snapping the man out of his trance. Harry'd been moaning so loudly, so _into_ it that it was absolutely _divine_ , but Louis really does want to get fucked tonight and he won't be able to get that if Harry is the one to come first. "You okay? I can slow down." 

Harry laughs, cheeks turning red from slight embarrassment, then shakes his head. "No," he says, eyes falling shut once more. "No, Louis, you go on ahead. I'm good." Fuck, is he good.

Louis is a bit giddy about the fact that he'd caused those _noises_ to come out of Harry's mouth, all on his own. And, like, Harry moans a lot; when he's fucking Louis, he gets all possessive and rumbly and groany and it really is hot. Really. But just now, he'd been whimpering _beautifully_ , begging for Louis' mouth, almost, and he hadn't even seemed to _know_ it. Louis wants to hear those noises again. (He makes a note to give Harry blowjobs more often.) 

"Does this make up for when you couldn't come a few days ago?" Louis asks, eyes twinkling and lips red. Harry doesn't open his eyes; only laughs through his nose and smiles blissfully. 

"Yeah," he says, throat wrecked like it's _him_ who's getting his mouth fucked by _Louis_. "It does, Lou. Promise." 

Louis does get tired of sucking Harry's cock soon enough (although the idea is usually preposterous and hard to believe), so he pulls Harry's boxers all the way down his legs and throws them near the two's discarded pants. He stands up and bends over to get his own off, his back facing Harry, and Harry opens his eyes at _just_ the right time: to see Louis almost completely bent down. Suddenly, he really wants his tongue inside Louis. Or his fingers, or his dick. Whatever will work. 

"Ooh," he says, trying hard not to fist his own dick in his hands. "I hope you didn't want to ride me tonight, because I swear I just want to fuck you into the ground." 

Louis picks up the condom and lube Harry had set by his bowtie upon getting the comforter, then smiles sweetly at the man. "Okay," he chirps, handing Harry the lube and dropping the condom on the floor nearby. "Do it." 

Harry sits up and gently moves Louis so he's the one with his back on the floor, then uncaps the lube and pours it onto his palm. He starts by rubbing at Louis' hole, fingers pressing between each sides of his ass, wanting to get the lube somewhat around his opening. They'd fucked three times in the past week; Harry doesn't want the boy's arse to hurt. 

"Mhm," Louis murmurs, nodding his head as his eyes screw shut. "Don't hold out, Harry. Jenny McCartney says we only have sixteen minutes left." 

Harry laughs, then leans down to wrap his lips around one of Louis' nipples while his index finger dances around his entrance. At the same time that Harry's tongue makes direct contact with Louis' bud, he pushes his finger deep inside the boy's heat, and Louis jolts upwards. Just like how Harry'd expected, really. 

"Oh," Louis groans, easing himself back down as Harry switches to his other nipple. His fingers spread out on the comforter, like he's trying very, very hard to get ahold of something, and Harry adds another finger while he makes Louis' nipples turn pink and puffy. His fingers move in tune to where his tongue does, and finally, Louis lets out a high whine. 

"Stop," he begs, and Harry does. "I'm gonna fucking come, you dumbass." 

Harry raises an eyebrow and gestures towards Louis' cock ring, wrapped around the base of his dick. Louis looks at it like he's only just remembered its there, then says, "Oh." It's _all_ he says for a moment, and he looks up at Harry with angry eyes that aren't really angry and a mad expression that isn't really mad. Just annoyed. 

"Well, I still don't appreciate you teasing me. What did I say? What did Jenny McCartney _fucking_ say?" 

And Harry laughs; he laughs because he's in love and he laughs because this boy is his favourite person in the entire world. He laughs because he's about to fuck Louis and he's absolutely euphoric about the fact. 

"Sorry, babes," he apologises, reaching for the condom. Louis falls back against the pillows once he sees Harry rolling it on, spreading his legs eagerly. 

"Come to daddy," Louis blurts suddenly, and Harry looks at him in mid-jerk of his cock. Louis opens his mouth to explain that he heard it in a movie or read it in a book or _something_ , and it kind of sounded right for the situation, but before he can even say anything Harry is holding his hand up to prevent Louis from speaking. 

"Don't," Harry says.

"Okay," Louis says.

Harry positions himself between Louis' legs, hands on both of the boy's knees, slowly pushing his cock inside Louis' arse until he's completely bottomed out and his hips are flush against Louis' own. Louis whimpers quietly, like he wants to do more, and Harry kisses him once before beginning to move inside of him. 

Maybe it's because they both know its a special day, that it's a holiday and this would all be magical even if they _weren't_ having sex, but whatever the case, tonight's sex is different. It's making Harry's stomach curl, it's making Louis' heart best faster than it ever has before, it's making them both sensitive to not only each other's body but also to how much they love the other.

And both Harry and Louis can tell its going to be short; it's short because Louis spent a _little_ too much time sucking Harry's dick and it's short because Harry spent a _little_ too much time fucking Louis with his fingers. 

Harry's already close a few minutes in, and with the way Louis is writing underneath him, he knows the boy is, too. His palms grasp for Louis', one hand in each of his partner's, and he squeezes them reassuringly. 

"Uh—" Louis moans, and his eyes flicker between being fluttered shut and open, gazing Harry's own. "I love you," he wheezes airily, fingers lacing between Harry's so even their hands are intertwined instead of merely pressed together. Like their bodies, like their hearts.

Harry feels like he can't talk, feels like his throat is cotton, but after swallowing a few times he manages to say it back. Then again, then again, then once more before he just _can't_ hold on. 

And the _strangest_ fucking thing happens as the two move in tune to each other's song; the weirdest thing that will /ever/ happen to Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson happens as they make love seconds before the new year rings in. 

They come at the same damn time; they come right when an explosion of glitter alights the television screen (when a splash of white from Louis alights Harry's chest and a splash of white from Harry alights Louis' arse), they come when Jenny kisses Ryan's cheek, they come when the rest of the country is celebrating the new year. 

(But more importantly, they come at the same time. Harry will _never_ not say, "What the fuck," when thinking about that. Louis will _never_ not fall into hysterics when thinking about that.) 

It's beautiful, actually; a little bit, at least. Sort of. Eventually, when both of their climaxes have passed and Louis isn't shivering from the pleasure anymore, they break away only to moments after fall into each other's arms.

"Did that just happen?" Harry says aloud, and Louis snuggles into Harry's arms while looking at the ceiling like he's looking at a meteor shower. 

"It's a Christmas miracle," he exclaims, voice breathy and sounding suspiciously like its from a movie. Harry reminds Louis that it's New Year's Day, and Louis says, without missing a beat, "It's a New Year's Day miracle." 

All Harry can do is laugh and relish in the touch of his loved one, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips. He can feel Louis' heartbeat pulse against his own, and he thinks about how poetic the idea is until he realises a popular boyband at the moment has already begun to sing a song with those exact lyrics on the television. 

"I hate this song," he mutters. 

"Hey," Louis says, cutting into Harry's own complaining. A petulant expression takes over his face, and his hand pulls at Harry's fingers. "My cock ring didn't work." 

Harry looks at the rubber thing, still rolled tight onto Louis' cock, then pulls it off of him and tosses it towards the tree.

"No, don't lose it," Louis protests, sitting up and scanning to see where it had fallen. "I want a refund. I kept the receipt in case it didn't fit." 

Harry isn't certain towards which sentence of Louis' he should laugh at, so he pulls Louis onto the comforter again and turns so they're facing each other. "Don't think they'll take it back now," he says, and Louis purses his lips.

"You're probably right," he says, and Harry is just _so_ in love. He can't think about anything but Louis, he can't think of a world in which Louis isn't by his side and talking about returning sperm-stained cock rings. He honestly _can't_. 

"Happy new year," Louis tells Harry, and in response, Harry says, "I love you." 

Louis' eyes shine; maybe they're reflecting the love in Harry's own eyes, but it doesn't matter. They're shining and they're beautiful. "I love you, too," he says.

They lie in one another, the television crooning softly in the background. No sound is loud enough to break the silence of their love; nothing is enough to rid them of the happiness that they share as they take in being able to spend the new year with the one person they know they'll spend every prolonging new year with. 

Nothing except, of course, Louis' loud-ass voice.

"Wait, who won the damned bet?"

**Author's Note:**

> leave any type of criticism you want whether it's bad or good!!!!! thanks for reading!!!!


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